


The Phoenix

by Gone_with_a_thought



Category: Cinderella (2015), Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Cinderella - All Media Types
Genre: Dark then light, Ella is awesome, Gen, Slapping, Slight abuse.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:38:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gone_with_a_thought/pseuds/Gone_with_a_thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing lasts forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Phoenix

It had not always been this way. 

Her mothers' house was once full of joy and light. 

Laughter had rang through out, bouncing from room to room like the fairies that played in the garden. Love had once seeped into every crack and crevice, infected the walls and the people with brilliance. The warmth of the lives led there had spread from the dust motes of the attic to the muck that settled at the bottom of the pond. 

When her mother had died, the light left with her. 

When Ella clawed her way out of grief as only a child could, she quested herself with infusing the resplendent air back into the house her mother had adored. 

For years she succeed.

But nothing lasts forever.

Now the house was cold. 

Somehow empty despite the continued residence, silence ringing even when chatter droned on. Dim during high noon. Solemn while mirth traveled. 

“You there, girl! What are you doing? Sitting about- wouldn't you rather relax _when the work is done? _”__

Distantly Ella wondered if that was Madame's true voice or if she purposely made it sound like a wounded creature. 

“Just thinking.” Short answers- she had learned- were usually the best course if one wanted to avoid a smack. 

“Oh how quaint.” Her tone suggested it was anything but. “Please do tell me, what it is so ensnaring that it has distracted you from your chores.” 

Against her better judgment, Ella did not answer. Her mouth remained closed as her eyes fixed upon a marlin fluttering around outside. 

In her darker moments, surrounded by the creaking of the attic and her animals friends, she imagined that it was a gem that sat in Lady Tremaine's chest. Beautiful to look at, to admire- but lifeless. Hard and icy, shinning in the sunlight and incapable of anything other than stillness. 

The stinging of her left cheek proved she wasn't wrong. 

Anger welled with in the blondes' chest, as ugly and poisonous as the woman before her. 

Ella was not guileless. She was not unjaded nor was she an imbecile. She did not think so low of herself as to believe she deserved this treatment. 

She had been nothing but kind. Had struggled to be brave. 

Nails dug in to her chin, forcing blue to meet frosted green. 

“You are but a girl made of cinders and covered in ash.” Sneered in her face. 

A second blow to match the first and dimly Ella was pleased that, if nothing else her cheeks matched. 

Madame gathered up her skirts and twirled away, shoes clicking down the hall. The unvoiced threat to return to work left swirling in the draft. 

Ella bit her lip and took a breath. And another . And another. And another. Until her breaths were gasps and her hands shook. Until her neck and chest matched her battered face. Until sweat trickled down her skin. 

Crumbling to her knees, small hands scrambled to find purchase on the stone before the furnace. 

She cried out her anger, her hate. Desperation and fear tipped each eyelash, blinking furiously to clear the blur. 

Her image reflected in the copper pot she had been set to scrub before her thoughts had ran away. 

Ash did indeed cover her skin, blended in with the smudge of black under her eyes, stood out amongst the glow of her hair. 

But what struck her- what she would come to hold on to in the weeks to come- was her eyes. 

Her father had considered them periwinkle. In her more self-indulgent moments, Ella herself considered them cobalt or perhaps aquamarine.

Now, kneeling on the ground, staring into the shine of a hand-me-down pot, the flames of the fire before dance in the iris. 

It was then, in the kitchen of a once loved house, that Ella discovered a truth she would rely on for the rest of her life. 

Madame was wrong. 

Ella was not a creature of ash and smoke to be abandoned where she lay. 

Ella was a being made of _fire _.__


End file.
